


latent learning

by caringsatan



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Jon Uses Big Brain To Kinkshame, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Scottish Honeymoon, Sickfic, Touch-starved Jon, but not on purpose. mostly to make his boyfriend happy, kink osmosis, slowburn kink discovery, sneeze kink, sneeze kink!martin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:54:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25560898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caringsatan/pseuds/caringsatan
Summary: martin has a secret! jon knows what it is! jon only sort of knows that he knows, but once the ol' Big Brain is prodded for confirmation, boy, does he know. like, thoroughly. anyway, did i mention that jon is a sleep-talker? you can probably imagine how this all goes terribly awrythe magnus archives is a podcast distributed by rusty quill it is licensed under a creative commons non attribution sharealike 4.0 international license, today's episode was written and performed by my SNEEZE FETISH. if you don't have a sneeze fetish and you read this, well i am sorry if you die from experiencing hell (my tma sneeze fetish fic) but that is none of my business. BUT to anyone looking for more for some reason, i post less formal tma sneeze fetish things on tumblr at: https://caringsatan.tumblr.com/tagged/my-sneezefuck-archive-writings so SEND ME ASKS IF YOU WISH! <3
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 29
Kudos: 122





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> ok so i'll get to the goods in a minute but i'm just gonna set up real quick because i started thinking Thoughts about the drive over. here's a prologue

It was subtle at first.

Just the odd sniffle from the passenger seat. The weighty sound of congestion edging into Jon’s sentences, the odd bewildered pause after a particularly rough sneeze. The apologies, rushed and pointed, reminiscent of a preemptive self-deprecating comment one might make so that nobody else can remark first.

Sweetest of all, though, perhaps, was the little sigh and nod of relief, his murmured “Oh, thank you,” when Martin passed him a pack of tissues from his backpack, after finally finding a moment to park at a faded stop sign and rummage around. Martin felt a little knot of sympathy and arousal twist itself up inside of him, seeing Jon tear right into that pack of tissues so immediately, but he quickly brought his attention to the road. 

He almost didn’t mind having to drive, so he wouldn’t get too swept up. He didn’t want Jon onto him, if he could postpone that conversation for at least a while longer.

It was all very, very new.

The giddy and warm atmosphere of that long, hazy car ride, pushing up through the morbid uncertainty of what was to come; it felt priceless, like a youthful memory Martin had always had, or at least, like something similar that should have been there. 

He was sure, though, that even if he’d had many prior adventures to call his own, nothing could have touched the surreal intermingling of fresh air and fresh emotions causing him to drive just a bit too slow, hitting them both in waves like a potent high. No other long drive would ever mean more, unless it was another long drive with him.

Drowsy, strange, loving Jon. The way he _knew_ every song on the radio, and occasionally caught himself softly singing along between conversations. The way he chastised the navigation on Martin’s phone, claiming that he could take them a ‘simpler way.’ This was sometimes because he _knew_ , and sometimes because he thought he did. Though, considering the number of incidents in which Martin struggled to tell his left from his right without at least a quarter of a mile of notice, they had relatively even grounds on which to torment one another.

A more oblivious form of torment, however, was the way Jon kept stopping in his tracks, narrowing his eyes, looking rather hazy, and then reaching for the pack of tissues resting on his thigh just a bit too late. The way he always switched gears and stifled powerfully into the crook of his arm, kept it there for a moment, and sniffled as effectively as he could while reaching for a tissue, apologizing. The way Martin was supposed to keep his eyes on the road.

Jon didn’t mention it out loud at first. Not until it appeared to dawn on him that he looked like a mess, sniffling behind a slightly extravagant amount of tissues, blinking rapidly. Just so generally... watery. 

“Scotland seems to have it out for me.” Jon remarked from behind his large handful, muffled, but matter-of-fact.

“What’d you do this time?” Martin smiled, his gaze darting over to eye Jon playfully.

“I don’t know! It attacked me first, with its... lovely... trees...” Jon retorted in a faux-hiss, rolling his eyes with good humor as he brought his hands together in his lap, haphazardly folding the large tissue bouquet, only truly creased at all with the lines from when they were each perfect rectangles. His eyelids fluttered for a moment as though he was fighting off another sneeze, and then he chuckled at himself, shaking his head a bit. “I suppose I _am_ reacting a bit disproportionately.”

Martin gave something between a scoff and a laugh. “ _Reacting_. Was that a pun?”

“Yes.” Jon admitted, amused, rubbing his eyes.

“Now you’ve done it! Scotland’s _really_ offended now.” Martin accused softly, smiling so big his cheeks hurt.

“Will it have mercy if I tell it I’m sorry?” Jon tried to scowl, but definitely ended up smiling instead.

“Um... probably not? No, might as well just wallow, I think.”

“I will take that advice.”

They sat, smiling so big that it was a bit embarrassing, but they allowed it to happen. After a moment of giddiness bubbling up and intermingling like body heat, Martin inhaled deeply, held his breath, and pulled the car over with a slightly impulsive yank of the steering wheel, parking on the grass a bit. 

“Martin? Are you-...” Jon peered over at him with oblivious eyes, tilting his head, wondering if something had been bothering him, or if he was feeling unwell himself, or...

Before Jon could finish his thought, he was wrapped up in a tight hug. He felt his eyes involuntarily close as he hooked his arms around Martin’s upper back, clinging, getting lost in his soft warmth, never wanting it to end. He felt heat rising to his cheeks and the tips of his ears when he heard Martin softly murmur.

“Sorry, I just… is this alright? If I, kind of... squeeze you for a minute?”

“...yes.” Jon confirmed shyly, melting. It was a bit hard to breathe, but he didn’t care.

“Good! Uh, something just-... really came over me, I hope you don’t mind.” Martin stammered gently.

“I don’t mind. It’s very… it’s good.” Jon managed, muffled against Martin’s chest, snuffling heavily. He couldn’t elaborate on that, for fear of drowsy tears springing to his eyes. He joked instead. “A bit... distracting on the whole wallowing front, in fact.”

“Well, can’t have you wallowing too hard anyway. We should only have a little ways now.” Martin chattered on, sweet and effortless, as though everything in the world was in his care. He gently scratched just behind Jon’s low ponytail, sending happy tingles down his neck and spine, as his other hand rubbed his lower back, side to side. “We’ll get settled, and... washed up, I’ll make you a nice cup of tea, you can have a lie-down... that should fix you up a bit, yeah?”

“I _guess_...” Jon snarked softly, though it was clear from how relaxed he was that he was utterly blissed out. Now he was starting to get a bit teary, but he blinked it back until it blended in with the bleariness that had become his default.

“Sorry you’re not feeling great, love. I’ll get us there as soon as I can.” Martin gave him one last squeeze before cupping his face and kissing his forehead. He turned back over to the dashboard and his eyes widened, fretting adorably. “Oh! We need petrol... we’re alright for a bit, but... actually, maybe the next station will have a decent shop! We could get you some pills.”

“If it stops your fussing, I, uh… s’pose we could.” Jon smiled, snide but adoring, sinking into his oversized sweater and pulling the sleeves up over his hands, mopping at his eyes a bit. He sniffled wetly and closed his eyes, squishing his cheek up against the window.

When they got to the nearest petrol station, Jon woke up from a light doze and offered to do the pumping, but Martin wouldn’t have any of it. He was secretly relieved, as he desperately needed the moment in the car alone to properly blow his nose for the first time in six hours, without the ordeal of being perceived, as it predictably sounded pretty... graphic and belabored before any sort of improvement could take place. A pitiful sound that could have easily gone on for _more_ ungodly amounts of time, really. 

He knew, though, that it would take a moment to get himself presentable. So, even though he wasn’t quite done, he got a head-start on doing just that, sniffling with a drowned quality into a folded-over tissue and clearing his throat. The throat-clearing, though, turned out to be a terrible idea, snagging and sending out an unanticipated volley of thick, chesty coughs. Tearing up from the force and becoming unacceptably congested, he peered through the window at the back of Martin, who still seemed to be fussing with the machine. He grabbed another couple of tissues and quickly tried to blow his nose one last time, but at that point, nothing was moving anymore. That is, until he felt a slight prickle…

“J-Jon?”

Martin’s voice made Jon jump a bit, as he hadn’t heard a car door open. It was when his eyes darted over to look at Martin, standing just outside the car, ducking a bit to peer in at him, that he realized that the window was still cracked. Significantly. 

Well, that’s just perfect--

“...h-AH- **_kkght_ **-!-dh… yes?” Jon stifled harshly, making a point to recover quickly, but holding tissues to his face.

“Oh, God _bless_ you.” Martin tutted, brow furrowed, almost interrupting. “So, um, I think I have to go inside, the machine’s got a broken card reader. Would you like to... stay in here, or come with?”

“I... think I’ll stay in here, if that’s alright.” Jon sniffled thickly, eyes watery as he attempted to clean himself up.

“Kind of figured.” Martin smiled warmly, pitying, and then looking a bit shy about something. “Um, I’ll... pick up more tissues, and hopefully some medicine, but, uh, is there anything else you want?”

“That should do it, if you don’t mind.” Jon smiled in return with a firm nod.

“That cough sounds horrible, by the way.” Martin remarked bluntly, as though suddenly remembering.

“Oh. Uh… thank you?” Jon smiled wryly, blushing a bit at the unpleasant thought that his little bit of… catching up was fully audible. “I’m used to it. Just a bit of smoker’s cough.”

“Uh-huh.” Martin rolled his eyes good-naturedly, before turning towards the shop and looking over his shoulder. “I’ll be back, okay? Try not to… die, or anything.”

“I’m pretty good at not dying! So far, at least.” Jon offered, as though very proud of himself.

“Don’t jinx it!” Martin hollered.

Jon appreciated the extra time to plow through some more tissues in vain and sneeze uninhibited. God, it felt good to just let himself sneeze, even though it was forceful and unsightly. He had to wonder, though, why exactly he felt as though he had anything to subdue in the first place. Pride? General reservations about being loud and taking up space? Fear of leaning into the feeling of being wanted? After all, Martin...

No, that was absurd. Just a very weird, specific daydream he had one time, in the moments before a post-statement desk nap. Probably. In any case, he was not about to fact-check. Not right then.

He took a moment to fall back into a hazy half-sleep against the window, a wad of tissues still in his hands, which lay cupped on his lap.

When Martin came back, shutting the car door extra gently so as to not startle sleeping Jon, he bore three packs of tissues, off-brand honey-flavored tea, cough drops, and, pointedly, cold medicine instead of allergy medicine. When Jon opened his eyes to rummage through the tiny haul, he nodded his thanks with humility and no objections.


	2. questionable green bathtub, incorrect rooster, etc.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw: brief nondescript murder mention. in other words, Jon Attempts Humor. also, a tiny mention of... rooster death from natural causes?? we’re off to a great start, folks
> 
> tl;dr:
> 
> martin charms his practical sick eldritch boyfriend into a luxurious bubble bath.  
> a discussion about sex, fetishes, and asexuality is... not Not had?  
> (the words “sex,” “fetishes,” or “asexuality” are never uttered)  
> they kiss a whole bunch.  
> martin is accidentally sad during a discussion about roosters.  
> jon cheers him up with some AWFUL improv poetry.  
> hmm. jon is actually pretty high on those cold meds. what a revelation!  
> oh, and a bunch of sneeze porn, during all of this. if you missed that memo.

“Oh! Look at this charming little bathtub, that’s lovely!” Martin beamed, dropping his backpack on the cabin flooring of Daisy’s bathroom and rushing over to the new sole inanimate object of his affection.

Jon sauntered through the doorway, only making his presence known with a small sniffle. He’d sort of heard what Martin said, but would only process it in a moment, as his mind was set on dutifully unpacking what he’d need for the evening before he got too tired to do so.

“I’ve always liked this sort of... pale seafoam green. Really unique with this cabin flooring, as well.” Martin continued despite the lack of response, kneeling beside the round-rimmed, old-fashioned bathtub and staring at it with a dreamy longing.

“Hmm.” Jon hummed, nasally but content, smiling at the enthusiasm in Martin’s voice. He sniffled thickly, only to find that he was much too stuffed up to stop his nose from running, and set his bag in the bone-dry sink for a moment to pull a folded-over tissue from his pocket. He glanced at himself in the mirror and cringed at how red-rimmed, watery, and swollen with congestion he’d started to look.

It already stung a bit to tend to his nose, from the remarkable amount of tissues he’d gone through in the car. Luckily Daisy had a few old, dented-in tissue boxes hiding next to the cleaning supplies in her linen closet. A bit beat up and wrinkled, but a blessed finding regardless. Much softer than that crinkly sandpaper from the petrol station.

Martin continued to ramble earnestly. “It’s like, 60’s kitsch, but with a really... comfy-cozy sort of country spin, you know?”

Though Jon was a bit focused on rummaging through his methodically organized bag of essentials, full of carefully separated smaller bags, his distracted counterpart sounded just fond enough to pull a bit of whimsy out of him. He supposed he could take a moment to acknowledge this bathtub that was apparently so interesting. He left his bag to sit, shuffling over to where Martin sat, tissue still pressed to his nose as he allowed it to run for a moment. At this point, he realized the futility of doing anything else about it.

The bathtub was... certainly a bathtub. Pastel green and vintage-looking, indeed. Spotless, with little evidence of use. Jon didn’t find it quite as entertaining to stare at as Martin seemed to, but he could almost be persuaded, as Martin had no shortage of things to point out about it.

“Isn’t it nice? Don’t you just love that little old-fashioned plug with the chain?” Martin looked over his shoulder at Jon, with a sparkle in his eyes that couldn’t even be dimmed by the thick lenses of his glasses.

“Yes, I…” Jon started, knowing that he should find some sort of pleasant observation of his own, but he couldn’t quite do it. The only response that felt authentic was to crack a wry smile and tease. “I suppose it would be a nice bathtub, if it weren’t so… unnervingly immaculate.”

“Really? Maybe this is a bit glampy of me, but I don’t think cleanliness necessarily takes away from rustic…” Martin chattered at the speed of light, turning to affectionately touch the smooth surface of the bathtub’s rim, before looking back at Jon, seeing the snide expression on his face, and stopping in his tracks, slightly horrified. “...charm. Right! Okay! Five seconds ago, I didn’t know I’d be thinking about Daisy’s bathtub crimes, but here we are.”

Jon snickered, crouching to caress Martin’s arms. “It’s alright, Martin, nobody has actually died in this bathtub.”

“You’re sure?” Martin pivoted towards Jon, side-eyeing.

“Yes. I, uh, _checked_.” Jon smiled. He had checked, admittedly, out of paranoia, the moment he suspected that it had been excessively bleached. Came up with nothing but benign factoids. Daisy just had a strange affinity for the smell of bleach, apparently. “Though, I can’t vouch for the absence of the... pre-dismembered?”

“Jon!”

“Kidding! Kidding.”

“You can’t say these things!” Martin scolded with a convincingly disapproving expression, but his body language betrayed him as he put his hands on Jon’s waist and pulled him in just a bit closer.

“Sorry! Just a little joke, is all...” Jon chuckled, trying not to cough.

“I don’t care! You’ve got too much leverage, to be saying that stuff! You have to use your power for _good_!” Martin rubbed Jon’s side gently with his thumb.

“I will be more mindful.” Jon nodded, closing his eyes sheepishly and smiling.

“Good! Otherwise I’ll-... I’ll only make tea for myself. You’ll be drinking soggy instant coffee grounds.” Martin pouted stubbornly, eyes shifting off to the side.

“Easy, Martin. Those are strong words.” Jon chided, touching Martin’s face and giving him a kind, watery look. “I’m sorry. For scaring you. Are there any... good things, that I can make happen? Now, later, whenever.”

A little, shy smile flickered on Martin’s face. “Well, there-... there is something I want.”

“Then, there’s something I’ll do.” Jon murmured earnestly.

“Oh, well, don’t say that.” Martin blushed, looking away. “It’s, um… it’s pretty embarrassing, so I was… actually wondering if you could… pry it out a bit?”

Jon tilted his head, thinking for a moment, brow knitting with concern. “You want me to-... of course, if it would help, but… are you sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah, why not? What the hell. Out with it.” Martin insisted, throwing his hands up, eyes shut tightly.

“Alright.” Jon grabbed Martin’s hands, interweaving their fingers and taking a deep breath.

Jon looked up at the one he loved, so very nervous and delicate in this moment. Normally, he would take a bit of pleasure in extracting something so clearly difficult to say out loud. He liked to help. But something in him wavered, anxious that this time, something bad would happen, that he was dangerous, that it would all backfire horribly, when, to his surprise, Martin had already started talking.

“Walking in here, I started having this stupid fantasy, where I run you a bath, and just sit next to you. Maybe, help you wash your hair, or just, whatever would help you relax. I won’t look while you’re getting in!” Martin squeaked, determined, eyes still shut.

Adoration and secondhand embarrassment spiked in Jon’s chest, causing him to break into what was probably the dopiest grin possible. Martin truly seemed to think that he was compromised, like a first-time drinker chugging margarita mix without the alcohol. He hadn’t compelled him. Not even one bit.

“Martin--” Jon whispered, giddy, voice giving out. Martin was still going, and it was pouring out of him.

“Or, I won’t even be there if you don’t want me to be, I’ll just be close by, if you need anything. Though, truthfully, I don’t want to be alone for long, so maybe we could chat through the door? But anyway, the steam might help clear the congestion a bit. I think I brought some eucalyptus as well! That’s weird, I know, but, well, I’m not always the best at practical stuff, like packing, so, I kind of just threw things in there. I’m still traveling light, when it comes to clothes and such, but the front pocket of my backpack is full of, just those-- you know those weird tiny things that don’t take up much space, that you probably won’t need, but--”

“Yes, Martin, I, uh... a bath sounds… actually, very nice right now.” Jon interrupted with a warm smile, sniffling and freeing one hand from Martin’s to reach back into his pocket and pull out that same folded-over tissue, absently pressing it to his nose for a moment before gesticulating with it still in his hand. “And I do rather like your company. A door between us seems... a bit unnecessary at this stage. _I_ think, anyway.”

“Oh! Okay! Okay. Heh.” Martin chuckled, face rapidly flushing a rosy pink, surprised at both himself and at Jon’s calm and inviting reception. He leaned over to twist one of the squeaking faucet handles, first wagering that the one on the left was probably going to be the hot water. That was just how these old bathtubs always seemed to be incorrectly wired up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say… _that_ much, but…”

“Uh, well, you know, it’s, it’s funny, I--” Jon started, suppressing the urge to laugh, but feeling guilty as well. After all, he hadn’t done what he said he would do, so, he should probably tell the truth, right?

“It really does feel quite strong, that compelling thing. When you’re noticing it...” Martin chattered on obliviously.

“ _Martin_...” Jon rasped out, pleading but good-humored, slumping his head against Martin’s chest in both faux-exasperation and an attempt to hide his giant, stupid grin.

Martin smiled with a bit of a pout, heart melting, and he pulled Jon into a hug, stroking his hair comfortingly. “What?”

“I, uh-... _hh_ -s-sorr-y-...” Naturally, at that exact moment, Jon was struck with the burning urge to sneeze, and put his hands up, waving them in a frantic, circular motion as if trying to communicate something he couldn’t find the word for. Martin quickly let him go, caressing his arms instead.

“Oh, hah. Go on...” Martin softly chuckled as his stomach did a happy little flip. He squeezed Jon’s arm for extra reassurance, steadying him.

“ ** _HD_ ** ’nggk-dh!” Jon quickly brought the tissue in his pocket up to his face, though it had been folded over so many times that it only covered so much, so he had to settle for angling himself as downward as possible and stifling to the best of his ability despite the sheer intensity. “...h-...HG’k-g _huh_ …! Agh, sorry. Sorry.”

He sniffled as hard as he was able, and his shoulders pulled upwards with a shudder, as though he seemed to think putting his upper body into it would maximize the effort. God, he was starting to feel disgusting. It had been a little while since he’d had a truly bad cold, and there was such a marked difference between the odd sneeze every now and then, caused by some sort of false alarm, and the feeling of a sneeze that was truly trying desperately to eject… absolute wrongness, chaos, and terror, to put it politely.

“ _Bless_ you!” Martin offered sympathetically, rubbing his back. “That sounded rough! You shouldn’t hold it in, you’ll hurt yourself.”

It did hurt, quite a bit. Not comfortable.

“Uh, it’s fine.”

And now he was remarkably congested and swollen. His sinuses throbbed, heavy and vengeful, as if cursing him for being a self-conscious idiot.

“No, it’s not! Listen to you, you’re all stuffed up...” Martin fussed involuntarily, pulling him back into a hug and returning to running gentle fingers through his hair, untangling a knot, and then blushing a bit in spite of himself. “Um, were you going to say something before...?”

“What? Oh, uh...” 

Right. Was he?

He reflected briefly on how sweet Martin had looked, spilling his guts with nothing to prompt him. He smiled to himself. Some things were too priceless to share. He could still say something that he meant, though.

“Just… thank you, for trusting me.”

Martin’s arms around him tightened in response to this. “W-well... hah. Thank you for not laughing at me. Or… just straight-up bolting, running back to London as fast as you can…”

“I don’t think I can run a full mile without something chasing me.”

“You could’ve called Daisy to be your running partner.”

“Well, then I’d end up in this bathtub one way or another.”

“Again with the murder bathtub?!”

“Sorry, sorry! It really is a safe bathtub, I promise. Daisy just prefers cleaning with bleach regardless of the situation. She hates to clean, really, so she pulls out the strong stuff, figures it’ll burn everything away so she doesn’t have to-”

“Alright, we don’t need to pry into Daisy’s cleaning habits.”

“Ah- sorry.” Jon shrunk a bit at this, nuzzling into Martin’s sweater and sniffling slightly, not quite catching himself in the act of doing so. “If I can... confess something, I… still have a habit of pulling too much. By mistake.”

“Mm, I’ve noticed.” Martin hummed, extending an arm to check the temperature of the running water. His lucky guess had been correct; the water was hot, and starting to steam. Who was the resident beacon of great knowledge _now_? He twisted the other handle just a little to get the temperature right, with a bit of a struggle to get it unstuck. “I guess it can’t be easy, though. Figuring out how all this works. So, you know, if it’s really an accident, there’s... no use in dwelling unless it’s important, I think.”

Jon chuckled sadly. “What if it is important? What do I do then? And how do I know, if it is or not?”

Martin shrugged and stretched as far as he could reach without fully getting up, fingers fumbling and just barely reaching enough to secure the stopper on the drain. “Well, there’s… probably not one solution for every person, but… I don’t know, just fess up if you think it’s a… big violation of privacy, and take it from there?”

Jon nodded, feeling slightly more at ease, finger pressed contemplatively to his chin. “Right. I’ll suppose I’ll tell Daisy next time I see her. About the bleaching preferences.”

“Not sure that’s important, Jon.” Martin laughed matter-of-factly, unzipping his bag and rummaging through for a moment before perking up with a little “ah!” and unscrewing a tiny bottle of eucalyptus oil.

“Right, I... suppose it isn’t.” Jon nodded again, more decisively this time, and turned to lean his back against the bathtub, pulling his knees up to his chest. He let his mind wander off, and it wasn’t long before he caught another glimpse of his little late-night work daydream from simpler times, before blushing and shoving it back into the deep misfiled archive of his mind. He couldn’t shake, however, the feeling of guilt that crept up from his subconscious. Whether it was a voyeuristic midnight snack, or a deeply off-the-wall fantasy sponsored by a caring look from Martin after a rough day, he was certainly surprised at himself.

Hmm.

He wasn’t one to dive into his thoughts on such things. But, this? Alright. This was eating him a bit.

He just had a hunch. That something about it wasn’t made up. He didn’t know if it was exact. Hell, it was only a general idea in his head at this point. As things stood, he was a bit foggy on what had even happened in the daydream. He could figure it out if he wanted to, but, oh Jesus, not right then. Not with poor Martin right there, blissfully unaware that his favorite hoarder of voyeuristic pleasure was just sitting there right next to him, casually thinking about… _things_.

He had to investigate. Put out some sort of a feeler, just so he could figure out what the hell had happened there. He just didn’t know how. He’d never learned how to talk about this stuff, never cared to, but one way or another, something had apparently piqued his curiosity enough for him to wind up in this situation.

“Martin, do you suppose-...”

And he’d started the sentence. Before he knew how to finish it. Stupid.

Okay. Maybe, just… be very general. Start over.

“How... important, do you think it would be, if it was a… more personal sort of preference?”

Martin gave a long, absent “hmmmm...” as he eyed the ingredients of some muscle-soothing bath foam he’d never used, still in its tiny box, pleased to find that it also contained eucalyptus. Arnica, as well. Should be nice. Jon didn’t seem like the type to have ever indulged in a luxurious bubble bath, of course, but today seemed like the perfect day to amend that...

Right, Jon had said words. He processed them into things with meaning.

“Preference? Like, what sort of people someone... _likes_ , or...?”

“Sort of! Like, uh...” Jon interjected hopefully with a sideways nod, doing that slow, circular ‘give me more’ sort of gesture one might see in a game of charades, when one of the guessers is onto something. He realized that he still had to be more specific, and grimaced. “Like, what if I’m talking to someone, and I get something, and it’s about… their… _inner_... more, recreational...”

As Martin clandestinely poured in an amount of bath foam that was already quite intentionally generous, he started to absently tip the bottle for just a bit longer as his brain lapsed. He gave a bewildered little laugh and turned that rosy pink again, feeling a slight sadistic temptation to let Jon continue to attempt explaining, but couldn’t help saving him with a lilted “... _oh_.”

“It’s-- it’s just something stupid I worry about, because I worry about... stupid things, if you haven’t noticed...” Jon babbled anxiously.

“So-- so, you _do_ mean, like, something saucy?” Martin laughed, so he didn’t implode.

“If we must call it that.” Jon groaned, covering his face with his hands.

“Hah, we-well, Jon! Who were you knowing _those_ things about?” Martin squeaked, eyes fixed on the bubbles, rapidly growing a bit taller than intended, carrying a strong scent, minty and earthy.

“Nobody! I don’t-...” Jon blurted out, mortified, before pausing and taking a second to rub his dripping nose and sniffle, a bit wetly and insistently, as though the eucalyptus was already starting to work its magic. His nose felt prickly, as though he could sneeze at any time if he focused. “I don’t _think_ it’s happened? I just have a bit of an... irrational fear, I suppose...”

Martin looked over at Jon, who just looked so small, all bashful and sniffly, curled up against the bathtub. “Oh. Jon. That’s… hah. Sorry, that’s a… bit cute?”

“I do _not_ see how.” Jon objected, moping a bit and pulling out that thoroughly-used tissue again, wiping his nose with a drawn-out pinch. Martin had told him earlier, pointedly, that he needed to conserve a bit more until they could go down to the village and pick up more tissues, but this was a bit excessive. Especially since they’d found enough to suffice for a bit after all, but Jon seemed to have become self-conscious about his previous habits.

“Look, you mostly learn things you were already curious about, yeah? You don’t seem to be... itching to know things like that. In fact, you go out of your way to _not_ know things like that. I mean, the fact that you’re… so horrified at the idea...” Martin matter-of-factly reassured, rubbing Jon’s shoulder.

“I suppose.” Jon pondered, knowing that was definitely true, as a rule, but still finding himself a bit confused as to what had flown past his typical range of neutrality to aversion.

“Which is fine, for the record. I mean, those sorts of things aren’t everything, are they?” Martin shrugged, fondly scooping up a pile of bubbles in his hand.

“No… no, they aren’t.” Jon stared off into space for a moment, before getting up quickly, as though remembering to do something. “Though, I realize they aren’t… _void_ of meaning?”

With an obvious absentmindedness that struck Martin as terribly ironic given the conversation, Jon shuffled over to the other side of the room to slide off his sweater. Then, just like that, he unbuttoned his trousers, shimmying each leg loose with a bit of a hop. Martin looked back and forth, smiling bashfully as Jon dutifully slid off his plaid boxer-briefs, dark green and blue with a grey elastic, and added them to the pile of clothes on the floor. Funny enough, he just seemed grateful to have a reason to move around a bit and be occupied, to shake off his nerves surrounding the conversation.

It was peculiar. Jon had always visibly recoiled at others’ bodies, but besides his facing the other way out of politeness, he moved as though his own body was so inconsequential to him that it slipped his mind to consider anything other than the practical reasoning behind his stripping down. 

It may have been just a point A to point B sort of situation in Jon’s head, but Martin, blushing, indulged in just a peek. His frame was so small, so dear, spotted with moles and a few marks he hadn’t been aware of. The small of his back was the perfect inviting indent he’d felt it to be, but he’d never noticed the slight curve of his spine. Scoliosis, perhaps?

“I-I… well, it’s... different for everyone. I think...” Martin murmured, with a nervous little tilt of his head, turning the water off just as it was getting close to overflowing, with its tall, fluffy wealth of bubbles. “Anyway, I’m... not really sure what we’re talking about anymore, but… does that… help?”

“Yes… yes, thank you, Martin.” Jon nodded decisively from across the room. He did feel better about it. After all, Martin had been pretty level-headed about the conversation. Plus, it was true, he never really entertained such things, and though it was often hard to tell, he did only seem to pull information that some part of him wanted. 

Whatever this was, it didn’t have to be anything supernatural. It was likely just his tired, half-asleep mind generating something that wasn’t necessarily desired. Just an assortment of concepts his subconscious had decided to gather from the day and play off on. He did read strange experiences for a quite literal living, after all. Plenty of cursed material to process in strange ways. Most everyone had fantasies that weren’t a reflection on them, right? Especially in dreams, or half-dreams, or… whatever.

“Bath should be ready, I think.” Martin smiled, looking shyly at the ground.

Jon grabbed his hair products out of his bag, turned around, and stopped in his tracks bewilderedly, recoiling with simultaneous amusement and horror when he finally noticed the giant mountain of bubbles that had apparently been forming a powerful empire behind him this whole time. “Oh, good lord. That’s…”

“Yeah, sorry. Just wanted to make it extra relaxing, but… I got a little carried away?” Martin chuckled, continuing to look down at the ground and nervously running a hand through his hair as he did everything in his power not to make Jon feel… stared at. The irony.

“A _little_.” Jon snickered, admittedly flustered by the gesture.

It was thoughtful, even if it was a bit extravagant. Plus, he felt worn-down and creaky enough that he almost didn’t mind how embarrassing it was to willingly step into a towering bubble bath at this stage of his adult life.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.” Martin blushed, dipping a hand in the water as a final test and quickly withdrawing it with a little start. “Ooh. That’s a bit hotter than I thought it would be, you might want to wait for it to cool d-”

“Seems just right to me.” Jon interrupted with a smug and content little smirk, having already submerged his leg, poking a satisfying hole in the tower of bubbles, without Martin noticing fast enough to stop him.

Martin’s head shot up and he jumped up on his feet, just one of his lenses fogging up a bit as he leaned into the crossfire of the steam to grab Jon’s arm with concern. “Jon! Careful, you’re gonna burn yourself!”

“Oh, please, Martin, you wouldn’t know burning yourself, if it-…” Jon set down his armful of products on the rim of the tub and slowly sank in, wincing a bit with every inch of skin the water covered. “Ah… hah. That is… definitely hot.”

“God’s sake…” Martin took off his glasses and put his head in his hands, sitting back down against the tub.

Jon spared a happy, nasally hum as he adjusted and his muscles started to ease up. He leaned his head back, scooping up the bubbles on either side of him with his arms and arranging them to cover him, as if they were a blanket that he was stealing every last bit of. “Oh, it’s good, though. That’s… really good...”

“Is it?” Martin peeked through his hands, eyes still alight with worry, if not a bit unfocused. When he saw that Jon was sufficiently covered, he took his glasses off of his lap and started to clean them off with his shirt. “You’re sure you haven’t scalded yourself?”

“Martin, what’s a bath if you don’t _scald_ yourself?” Jon scoffed, looking blissful as he sank all the way in to dip his hair in the water. “Just takes a second for that… pesky first layer of epidermis to burn off, and then? Perfect.”

Perhaps Jon was just a touch masochistic. He was certainly a bit more indulgent than Martin thought he would be, in his own bizarre way.

Martin smiled, putting his glasses back on and taking a proper look at him. “Well, you do seem happy.”

Jon splashed his face with a bit of water, then broke into a wheezing cough into cupped hands, his eyes shut tight. It sounded completely inevitable, as though it flew out of him without so much as a preparatory inhale. He sniffled, rubbing his face and blinking rapidly. “Ah, forgive me.”

“No, that’s good! You’re... loosening up, you know?”

“Ugh. Well, whatever grotesque display is yet to come may not be for the faint of heart.”

“What are you, a clickbait article? ‘What comes next will _shock_ you…’”

Jon broke into a chuckle that was about ninety percent cough.

“Need I remind you that we’re a bit far past what the faint of heart would deem acceptable?” Martin took Jon’s hand and brought it to rest on the rim of the bathtub, interlocking their fingers and gently rubbing the palm of his hand with his thumb.

“Yes, I-... s-... s’poseyou’reright--” Jon managed, breathy, before bringing his unoccupied hand up to his nose to push upwards, harshly stifling the effects of his packed sinuses starting to open up, congestion trickling forth and setting off a deep, burning itch. “...hh- _HUH_ - ** _kg_** ’dh! NN’ ** _kg_ ** -hh _uh_ …! NGH’tt- _dhh_!”

“Jon, it won’t stop if you don’t let it out.” Martin sighed, reaching into his backpack and pulling out a facecloth, handing it to Jon just before the next inevitable volley of sneezes. “Uh- here, use this...”

“ ** _HD_ ** ’kg-uhh! H-hh-...” Jon gratefully accepted whatever had just been handed to him, acknowledging Martin with a brief glance and nod before his red-rimmed, teary eyes forced themselves shut again. His breath hitched with a snagging shudder, high-pitched, as he buried his nose into the cloth, his body fully throwing itself into a wrenching, messy sneeze that he couldn’t have held back if he tried. “...h- ** _UHHDD_** shhieuh-! … _-ghuh-_...”

“ _There_ you go. Bless you. Go on, now, it’s alright.” Martin practically purred, stroking the nape of Jon’s neck reassuringly.

“...h- ** _AEH_** DDshhiuh! …- _ngh_...” Jon released, eyes streaming, sniffling thickly as he composed himself, wiping his nose thoroughly.

“God _bless_! See, that’s better, isn’t it?” Martin encouraged, unable to stop himself from staring adoringly.

Even through how stuffed up Jon was, he could still sense that the cloth smelled just like Martin’s clothes. He closed his eyes and just held it to his face for a moment. It was both a comfort and a slightly embarrassing reminder of how improper he’d been. He pulled it away, fidgeting with it awkwardly. “Sorry, is-... is this yours?”

“It’s just a flannel, I have others.” Martin chuckled, carefree. “I mean, I figure, don’t you just hate it, when you’re in the bath, and you... need a tissue, but your hands are wet, and-”

“Yes, Martin, I understand the logic.” Jon rolled his eyes, quickly dismissing the bizarre flutter he felt at the endearing implication that Martin had ever been in that same… very specific position. He pulled his attention back to the cloth in his hand, shyly averting his gaze. “I’m just-... sorry, to, well…”

“That’s alright, get yourself sorted! It is now for you to... do terrible things to. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

“Alright, well, I’m sorry, anyway...”

“Shall I start on your hair for you?” Martin leaned forward, resting his elbows on the rim of the tub, gazing at Jon adoringly.

“If… if that’s what you want.” Jon looked up at him and smiled with a nervous gratitude, before his eyes quickly darted away. He was overwhelmed, but in a way that he didn't exactly mind. Not if it was at the mercy of someone he trusted this deeply.

“Let’s see what you have here…” Martin happily turned the bottles of product around, scanning each one until he came to a beige and ivory shampoo bottle.

Clove and walnut. He could never quite pinpoint what Jon’s hair smelled like, but now it all made sense as the source of that woody spice pooled in his hand. It was nice on its own, but it was best once it had mingled with Jon’s chemistry, as it inevitably would once he’d dried off and pulled his long locks into that signature low ponytail, messy bun, or neat side plait, seemingly on autopilot.

The distant memory of those hazy institute early mornings and late nights in which their lives coincided had embroidered that lovely, damp, just-out-of-the-shower smell of Jon’s hair into Martin’s mind for good, pervading those small moments in which they passed each other by, suppressing yawns and offering bits of tense small-talk.

Now, that aching mystery surrounding Jon was finally beginning to undo itself, becoming his to fully treasure. It felt so right to care for him. Gently running lathered fingers through his glistening hair as it squeaked slightly with cleanliness. Scratching gently at his scalp and detangling as he worked his way down. Ending up with a small band of unruly, shed hairs, wrapped around his fingers when he pulled his hands away for the first time, and just temporarily sticking the little clump of flyaways to the rim of the tub, chuckling fondly.

“You’ll have to excuse the shedding.” Jon murmured, a bit of self-consciousness peeking through his blissed-out smile.

“That’s alright.” Martin giggled. “Same thing happens with mine and I don’t even have as much hair as you.”

Jon leaned into Martin’s touch, allowing self-pity and deeply craved bliss to fill his chest with a grateful ache. He closed his eyes and meditated on the sensations in his upper body, trying not to melt. The gentle bobbing of the hot water coming up to his collarbone, the crackling bubbles covering him, the damp caress of steam on his cheeks, the chill contrast of the occasional draft of air touching his shoulders, the tenderness of the irritated patches of skin around his eyes and nostrils, his breath passing through his teeth, the buzzing and throbbing of his sinuses, the tickly feeling of his nose starting to run considerably… it all felt heightened.

None of it was anything, however, compared to the gentle tugging and massaging of Martin’s fingers through his hair. It was such a comforting, tingling sensation that it felt as though his heart could crack open just a bit if he didn’t keep himself breathing deeply enough. Something about it drew out an odd guilty pleasure in feeling under the weather; after all, it wouldn’t involve such a permeating, shivery, emotionally-worn sort of tactile satisfaction if he weren’t already a bit compromised. Perhaps the cold medicine was also making a doped-up, sentimental fool of him...

“...h-II ** _ID_** SCHHeuh...!”

Ah. The one sensation he neglected to notice fully was… that. He brought the cloth to his face just in time as he pitched forward with a full involuntary roll of his shoulders, smothering the tired, intense, utterly messy sound. Martin shook his head and tutted, massaging with a bit more of an insistent rhythm, as Jon unabashedly let out an almost comically drawn-out groan, holding the cloth in its smothering position and reclining slowly. The following sniffle was almost involuntary, embodying that ill, contagious-sounding quality that only came once a terrible cold had truly won the battle.

“Goodness.” Martin murmured innocently, gazing with a smiling sympathy that, while genuine, buzzed with a certain hushed, fervid energy. It wasn’t quite beyond Jon’s notice. “Um, God bless you.”

“...thank you.” Jon softly managed, muffled by the cloth, feeling as though it was warranted to give proper, earnest acknowledgment considering the lavish attention he was receiving. He could feel Martin radiating an annoying glow of satisfaction upon his constant blessings being acknowledged, but he swallowed his pride.

As Martin’s fingers crawled back towards the crown of Jon’s head, sending waves of tingling happiness up and down his spine, he sank back into the realm of forgetting himself, and attempted a few very sharp, rebounding sniffles as he rubbed at his nose with the cloth. The accidentally vocal sigh that followed made it abundantly clear that he needed relief.

Martin sighed, shaking his head. Part of him wanted to spare himself the inevitable blush of saying something, but the other part of him simply couldn’t for the life of him restrain himself from fussing. “Jon, it’s fine. Don’t... force it all back up there.”

Jon side-eyed Martin perturbedly from behind the cloth, clearly not appreciating the visual. “Would you _stop_ being so... observant.”

“I-” Martin scoffs, his eyes pointedly shifting back and forth for a moment, before he gathered himself and stubbornly broadened his posture. “I think it would be difficult... _not_ to notice, but, heh. No! It just so happens, that- that I will _not_ stop!”

“Yes, I know.” Jon rolled his eyes.

Martin sighed, exasperated. “Look, I’m not squeamish, just do what you have to do. Stop being precious about a cloth.”

“Well, excuse _me_ for treating other people’s belongings wi _hh_ … with decency...” Jon geared up, breathy, doing his best to hold back, because, oh god. He just couldn’t handle how messy things would get if he sneezed again.

“Don’t you think decency’s a bit off the table when you’re not feeling well?” Martin murmured, gentle yet blunt.

“...hh-... I g-guess i _hh_ -it-... nnh, uh, a-apparently so...” Jon struggled from behind the cloth, sniffling uselessly, again and again, just about every second.

“Oh.” Martin giggled, cooing, trying not to explicitly say ‘aw.’ God knows that was what he wanted to say. “You, uh, you alright? Having a bit of... trouble there?”

“S-so-rry, just-... _hh-_ ... HAH-...n ** _GK’SH_** eiuh--! **_NGDSH_** ieuh--!” Jon attempted to stifle, wrenchingly, perhaps to minimize the amount of clean-up, but it backfired terribly, instead bursting so profusely into the cloth that he was beyond a simple state of need. He let out an involuntary, groaning “ _-ghh_ …”, and right on the heels of it came a choked cough.

He was crawling with how flooded he felt, his inflamed skin stinging. Every little breath or movement seemed to make a shifting water-logged sound, his face was a mess, and there was just no way he could hold out. He tried to sigh intentionally, but only wheezed and coughed more, tearing up with the force. The very millisecond he could catch his breath to do so, he blew his nose. Exasperatedly, forcefully, for dear life, overflowing, just needing to get some of that thick misery _out_ before he started to cough or sneeze again. To his surprise, the urge was compliant enough for him to get a good, thorough--

Never mind--

“ ** _HGGGK’_ **shieuh-!” Jon pinched his nose with the cloth, sneezing drippily, before interrupting himself to go right back to blowing desperately. This time, he tried to use less pressure, but hardly any was needed for it to echo off the walls, loose and begging to be pushed forth. It sounded so distinctly thick with infection, evolving into several horrifyingly textured sounds. That eucalyptus really was no joke, and he was starting to breathe it in properly.

Several times, he tried to clean himself up and pull it together, but wanted way too much to continue, and he gave in, no longer caring enough to resist how easily everything was dislodging itself. He’d been at it for quite a long minute now, but he’d been so stuffed up all day, and it just felt _so_ satisfying...

So much so, apparently, that he was only dimly aware of Martin’s eyes on him. There was… some sort of tangible energy in his stare, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Amusement? Pity? Both?

He coughed wheezily, eyes red and cheeks wet with tear tracks as he cleaned himself up for the final time, taking great care to avoid a more grotesque display than what was already necessary. He sighed and threw his head back with exhaustion, looking a bit more melodramatic than he was aware of. “Fuck.”

Martin giggled at the rare use of language, stroking Jon’s cheek and trying to stop leering. “You, uh... sure you’re done?”

“Yes, I’m _sure_.” Jon hissed, vexed and tensely clutching a thoroughly irredeemable cloth, but the relief on his face was evident. The steam had done wonders for that full, throbbing feeling that even made his teeth hurt. He could, unfortunately, already feel his sinuses working against him, trying to fill themselves up again, so he was definitely savoring the temporary reprieve. Mortification, though, was creeping back towards the center of his mind. “Well? Does it please you to see me act indecent?”

With that, Martin’s ears turned bright red. “What? No. I think it’s... less about that, and more that you’re just... prudish.”

Jon chuckled and raised an eyebrow. “ _Prudish_ , am I?”

“Well… yeah.” Martin smiled nervously, voice small.

Jon shrugged, hurriedly folding the cloth into a final, tiny square as if it was the least he could do, and draping it over the rim of the bathtub with a tight-lipped smile. “Hmph. Well, I apologize for being a _prude_.”

Martin took a moment to stare with loving amusement at Jon’s neat folding, before the realization dawned on him that his words could have been misconstrued, and he knitted his brow. “Oh! Um! You know what I meant, right? I-I just meant, like, well-mannered. I’m sorry if that was insensitive, I wasn’t thinking, I… I wouldn’t tease you about something like-... you know I love you, any way you are. Just as you are. So...”

“I… uh, thank you? I... love you too.” Jon blushed, taken off guard, narrowing his eyes cluelessly before scoffing with amusement and sifting water through his hands. “Really, Martin, there are worse things than being accused of having decorum. A bit of a weird cross to die on, should one choose to deny it.”

“Right… right, you _would_ see that as a compliment.” Martin chuckled, shifting his gaze towards the wooden floor. This conversation often seemed to fly just a bit over Jon’s head, but he still found it worthwhile to make his lack of expectation known. He always found it astonishing and slightly endearing, that someone so curious could notice so little about himself. Something about it was refreshing.

They had a certain equilibrium. Wherever one of them had a tendency to dwell, the other had a tendency to march on forward.

Jon looked around for a moment, before running a hand through his thoroughly saturated hair and smiling. “Can I, uh… can I rinse out the-...?”

“Oh! Right! Of course you-... you don’t need me to… tell you, when you can...” Martin trailed off, laughing softly, before taking a long moment to stare at Jon intently as he leaned forward and dipped his long hair into the water, combing through it carefully with his fingers for a while until it danced gently with the water’s slight current, and then pitching upward, squinting and looking a bit out of breath as water cascaded over his flushed face. He rubbed his face with steepled hands and then reclined, submerging the back of his neck and repeating the process with the few strands he missed, blearily staring off at nothing, the curvature of his profile on full display for Martin to trace with his eyes.

Again, and again, and again, until their eyes met and Martin looked back at the ground. Jon looked at him quizzically.

“Martin, are you too warm? I won’t mind if you crack the door, I realize it’s probably a bit...” Jon rasped as he slowly sat up with a little splash.

“What?” Martin blinked, in a daze, before realizing that he was probably flushed completely red. It was getting a bit toasty, of course, but that was not nearly the main concern. “Oh. No, no. I’m okay.”

“You’re sure? You look a bit… faint, or something.” Jon murmured, reaching out and feeling Martin’s cheek with the back of his hand, before realizing that his hand was dripping wet and withdrawing it to shake it off, a bit embarrassed at himself. He knew that certain sensations didn’t seem to zap other people with the intensity that they did for him, but he couldn’t imagine that anyone was a fan of having their face suddenly touched by something wet. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine...” Martin smiled shyly, taking Jon’s hand and drawing it back up to his cheek. “Actually, it’s… it’s just, I, um…”

Jon tilted his head, waiting him out. Just staring, with a look in his eyes that always reminded Martin a bit of an affectionate cat. Wide, studious, adoring, unintentionally piercing.

Martin looked at the ground, almost whispering. “I want to kiss you.”

“Oh… really?” Jon smiled bashfully, running a hand through his hair and looking back and forth. “It’s just, I can’t see why... I mean, I-I want the same, of course, but... I’m… like this.”

“Not sure if you’ve noticed, but I don’t care?” Martin smiled, pressing his lips to Jon’s knuckles.

Jon blushed at this, his shoulders shrinking. “I’d feel guilty passing this on to you...”

“If we were going to be careful, I’m… pretty sure that ship has sailed.” Martin replied with a bit of an impish sing-song, moving on to kissing each of Jon’s fingers.

“You’re probably right.” Jon sighed, slightly mortified. He thought for a moment, before locking his fingers with Martin’s, looking up at him with the pure loyalty of some sort of storybook knight. “Well, if you do start feeling ill, I’ll... do my best to repay you, with all that you deserve.”

“Oh, I-I... hah, Jon, that’s…” Martin giggled, flustered, wanting to say ‘corny,’ but he couldn't. Not when Jon looked so earnest. “Repay me for what?”

“Uh, for… for everything, I... know I’m not the easiest, to… it means a lot, that…” Jon twirled a strand of wet hair, fixing his gaze on the iridescent bubbles as he started to feel a lump gather in his throat. “I just... I know you’ve had a… very... difficult time lately, and...”

“Hey, hey, no. Don’t. S-stop that!” Martin half-joked warmly, chuckling to push down the shooting pain in his chest. Jon didn’t have to say much, but the sentiment was clear, and suddenly, a high-strung energy was practically springing off of both of them.

“Yeah. No. Yep. Sorry, sorry.” Jon replied, clipped, closing his eyes and smiling nervously.

“You’d better not do this, Jon!” Martin scolded, dissolving into uncomfortable giggles.

“Right. Yes. Uh, all I’m… trying to say, is... you’ve been... very kind. Thank you.” Jon knew he couldn’t elaborate more than that, and hoped it sufficed. He didn’t want either of them getting too wobbly when there were only words to offer, due to him being too submerged to wrap all of his limbs around Martin immediately. He’d already stammered through too many clumsy butcherings of his appreciation.

Then, he remembered that there was one thing he could do. After a moment of shyly looking down, he turned with a jerky movement, water rippling around him with a little splash.

Jon pressed his dripping hands on either side of Martin’s face and kissed him, with a slow, reverent indulgence.

They’d kissed before, once. The night following their hand-in-hand venture out of that foggy, endless landscape, just before passing out with exhaustion in each other’s arms. Mutually initiated, as they’d both felt exactly what was coming. Soft. Trembling. Hesitant, both moving with so much gentleness, as though the other were so fragile that they would crumble. They hadn’t spoken about it afterwards, both feeling deeply non-verbal in the wake of what they’d survived to get to that moment. But there was no discussion to be had. They both knew how right it was.

This was the first time since. And this time, Jon kissed deeply. With enough certainty to make Martin swoon into his touch.

Sure, the fact that he was pulling such a true moment out of the awkward, persnickety, doubting Archivist made it all that much more precious. In truth, however, this was just as hopelessly romantic as Martin had already known Jon’s heart to be.

There were small interruptions, all perfectly okay. Sometimes Martin started smiling just a bit too big. Sometimes Jon needed to pull away to breathe, or sniffle, or sneeze into that poor, awfully overused cloth and quickly wipe his nose. Martin, though, simply responded with a greedy _yank_ as soon as he could get away with it, instantly pulling him back into an even deeper kiss, without even sparing his usual dutiful blessing. Jon found this as reassuring as it was bewildering, and didn’t quite have the real estate in his mind to connect the dots to his earlier musings. He was wholly preoccupied with showing Martin every last ounce of his devotion. So, he tucked his insecurity away.

Just once, feeling a bit overcome, Martin gently grazed Jon’s lower lip with his teeth. Just a quick, discreet nibble that could have been a fluke. To Martin’s surprise, he felt Jon smile and return the favor pointedly, all while scratching lovingly at the nape of his neck.

Jon’s nibble was definitely more of a bite, which was... more than okay. When Martin smiled and gave a happy little whimper, shivering, Jon pulled away slightly and pressed their noses together, giving him a curious look, as if checking in.

“Hah, wow...” Martin purred, heavy-lidded, pupils as big as planets.

“Sorry, I... are you alright?” Jon compulsively murmured, blushing.

“Mm, yeah, good wow. Heh.” Martin shyly giggled, pupils darting around, lips perfectly kiss-swollen and tingling. He met Jon’s gaze with love. “Are _you_ alright? Is this too much?”

“Oh, no, it’s… it’s just right, actually. This right here, is…” Jon beamed, rubbing Martin’s cheek with his thumb and backing away slightly to clear his throat and sniffle. “This is right where I’m happy.”

Martin sighed with relief and a bit of giddy excitement that Jon was enjoying himself. “Okay, good! Tell me if you stop being happy, alright?”

Jon smiled with a pure sense of wonder, wide-eyed and adoring. Meek and a bit unaware that this was, in fact, the gentleness he deserved, but wholeheartedly trusting all the same.

“Same to you.”

\---

The wall clock above Daisy’s patchwork couch softly ticked on, striking some ambiguous afternoon hour that neither of them cared to pinpoint. Jon’s slightly damp hair, fastened into a slightly looser plait than usual, had started to give off that perfect scent of sweet, earthy spice as he lay in Martin’s lap, sipping tea and wearing what was possibly the softest sweater he’d ever stolen from a significant other. The cool air of the living room felt perfectly bracing on his cheeks as he softly sniffled from the temperature change, keeping a box of tissues ready beside their tangled up legs.

Martin held a paperback novel in one hand and caressed Jon’s waist with the other, holding the book up so that both of them could silently read. Jon was the designated page-turner.

He was usually a faster reader than Martin, and this time was no exception at first. He didn’t mind politely withholding any fascinated hums or chuckles until he heard Martin do so. He enjoyed the activity of knowing exactly where in the page Martin was, based on his soft little reactions. Maybe _knowing_ a little, as he staved off the temptation to take loving little peeks at the story through Martin’s eyes. He imagined it looked a lot brighter that way.

Then, when Martin would nod slightly, he’d take that as his cue to turn the page.

Sooner or later, they’d gotten into a compatible rhythm, as Jon got sleepier and found himself getting lost in each phrase that caught his interest, lingering a bit longer than usual as his thoughts wandered. When he wasn’t dwelling on some concept or other, he was losing his place, as his tired, glassy eyes played tricks on him and skipped lines. 

Occasionally, he had to turn away to smother a quick sneeze or cough, or softly blow his nose, and by the time he looked back over at the page, he couldn’t remember what he had just read. Martin always seemed happy to wait, sometimes taking the opportunity to sip his tea while Jon caught up.

It was a long, heart-healing quiet. As their tea cooled, and as Jon’s hair dried, they each sat steeped in their own reverie, but not alone. For that hour, they had no fear of tipping the sacred balance they’d reached.

Together, but separate. It was a lovely place to be.

In time, they reentered the world from the light hypnotic focus of their hazy second space, when the squawk of some kind of animal in the backyard made them both look up from the page in surprise and laugh softly to one another.

“Was that a rooster?” Jon asked, eyes narrowed in disbelief.

“It was, wasn’t it? How sweet...” Martin cooed, a big smile evident in his voice. “Won’t hear that in London, will you?”

“Not sure why we’re hearing it at all in the middle of the afternoon.” Jon chuckled, shaking his head.

“It’s actually not out of the ordinary for them to crow all day! Just to let everyone know who’s in charge. Personality thing, kind of...” Martin enthusiastically offered, before trailing off and deciding to withhold any further rooster tidbits, in case he got carried away.

“Interesting. I suppose I haven’t observed many roosters long-term.” Jon admitted, sniffling behind his handful of tissues. After a moment, he tilted his head against Martin’s chest, as if nudging him. “What about you? Any good ones in your life?”

“Yeah, actually!” Martin beamed, before going a bit timid again. “My mum and I sort of... shared a field with this one neighbor, and... we had this group of… old territorial roosters passing through all the time. It was so lovely, they’d just bicker at each other... but none of them ever thought to just go somewhere else? So, I liked to think… they were friends, sort of. For the longest time, I’d just… make up little stories. About their rooster drama.”

Jon smiled fondly. “Best pastime I’ve heard of in a while.”

“Yeah, I didn’t really... know any humans?” Martin started to laugh, striking his own funny-bone somehow. He noticed after a moment that Jon didn’t seem to find it as funny as he did, and resigned himself to the fact that it was probably sad. “I had an… unschooling sort of situation, so, hah… you know. Lots of time at home, nobody your own age, you get creative.”

“I, uh... understand.” Jon nestled into his chest, with a sad yet comforting aura that, yet again, reminded Martin of a pet of some sort, in those moments when they just… well, _know_. Perhaps the comparison came to mind because Jon rarely had much to say in these moments, but it didn’t matter. He felt it.

“Thought you might.” Martin murmured with a little smile.

They both paused to make way for a slight hollow ache. They’d both been founded on loneliness, it seemed. Before they were ever outright marked, it saturated everything with a permanent heavy dampness, as though they’d always been walking around in soaking wet clothes. It wasn’t ideal, but it just had to be alright, so it almost was.

Jon grabbed his tea and took a sip, before giving in to a small sputtering cough. He set down the teacup and grabbed another couple of tissues, sniffling uselessly into them. Martin tutted, rubbing his back.

Jon grimaced, looking for a way to quickly stop the focus from shifting back to himself. For some reason, talking about the roosters in his backyard was seeming to open Martin up a bit, for the first time in a great while, and he didn’t want that window to close.

Upbringing wasn’t the most comfortable topic, for either of them. However, now that he’d stumbled upon a bright spot to inquire about, it seemed like a safe bet.

“So, uh, these roosters.” Jon nudged again, sniffling softly. “Tell me more. Did you ever get to meet them?”

“Right! I was getting to that!” Martin lit up.

“Tell me _everything_.” Jon half-joked from behind a handful of tissues, proud of his quick save.

“Right, so, my neighbor, he was like… a rooster whisperer? Turns out he’d known them all really well, for a long time, but… well, I never got to know him ‘til I was older, ‘cause, um, up until then, I had... t-trouble. Talking to people. I guess. Hah.” Martin stuttered, fidgeting with Jon’s braid self-soothingly.

Jon really hadn’t expected roosters to be the ticket that struck a nerve, but it sure seemed to be.

Hm. Martin, having trouble talking. A novel concept. Except for when he was at his lowest, Jon supposed.

“I see.” Jon leaned his head against Martin’s heart, right at the moment that his pulse seemed to quicken.

“Yeah, I’d… sort of go through phases, where I was really... shy? Well, it’s not quite that. At some point, I’d developed a bit of a stutter, probably just from… nerves, I think. Nothing physical. It still slips out from time to time, but now I just try to... slow down, when I feel it... about to happen… but, um, back when it was bad, I’d just... go days without speaking? Just never needed to, really, my mum did most of the talking, plus, I still... cared whether or not anyone wanted to hear what I had to say, hah. Not quite so much anymore, the older I get...” Martin rambled on sunnily. His leg started to bounce rapidly without him noticing, shaking both of them just a bit.

“I’m sorry.” Jon offered solemnly, despite knowing it wasn’t exactly best to show much pity. Martin clearly wasn’t aware of how… terribly sad this all was. But what else could he say? He was sorry.

“Oh, no, it’s alright. Somehow, it got easier? Or maybe I just got tired of it? Once I realized how much I loved to talk, it was impossible to shut me up, stutter and all, hah. Drove my mum out of her mind, but…” Martin smiled sadly, before catching himself drifting into difficult territory. “Um, anyway, right, the roosters. Sorry.”

Jon kissed Martin’s cheek, before pressing his forehead and the bridge of his nose against it. “You’re fine, Martin. I’m listening.”

Martin chuckled nervously, scratching lovingly at the nape of Jon’s neck. “It would be fine if you weren’t. I know you’re not feeling well.”

“No, I... like to listen. It helps, somehow.” Jon smiled, clearly feeling genuinely soothed.

Martin looked down at him with a suspicious smirk. “Jon. You’re not snacking on me, are you?”

“No, Martin, I am not _snacking_.” Jon retorted curtly, pulling away slightly just to narrow his eyes at Martin, before looking down sheepishly and curling back up in his lap like a little woodlouse. “Though, I’ll admit, I worded that suspiciously. I just meant that it helps to focus on something. That, and, I... enjoy listening to you. Benignly.”

Martin snickered at Jon’s word choice. He sounded dreadfully stuffed up. “Sorry, what was that word?”

“Be-ni-gnly-... _ugh_. Innocently. Normally. Honestly.” Jon tried in vain to enunciate, rolling his eyes and bringing his handful of tissues back up to his nose, groaning stuffily. He indulged in a pronounced, but thoroughly useless sniffle.

Martin suppressed a giddy little giggle with pursed lips, trying to resist needling him, but failing. “Has the letter ‘N’ always been this common...?”

“Al _right._ If I’m so hard to understand, you’re welcome to fetch me a pen and paper.” Jon snarked acidly, with a defeated slump of his head.

“Oh, Jon, I’m teasing you.” Martin beamed, kissing the top of his head.

“I know…” Jon chuckled despite himself. “ _Anyway_. The roosters. Your neighbor.”

“Oh! Right! Right.” Martin giggled. “Um… basically, my neighbor and I started to chat, when I’d go out to do the yardwork... and, well, I think he didn’t have many people to talk to either, ‘cause from that point on, he would just… ring our doorbell every day, and… give me some sort of update on the roosters?”

“Hmm...” Jon hummed nasally and adoringly, obviously a bit touched.

“One of those people, where they’re just-- they get so excited, you can’t really get much of a word in sometimes, but... of course, I didn’t mind, heh, I can be the same way.”

Jon smiled, taking one of Martin’s gesticulating hands and kissing his fingers.

Martin’s heart fluttered. He’d always had a fixation on Jon’s hands, but at that moment, it fully dawned on him how nice it felt to have attention paid to his own. He might have lost his train of thought completely if he hadn’t been a bit excited, having never told his story before. “Also, it meant... that I didn’t have to make up my own rooster stories anymore. They really did have their own little dramas! I just didn’t really have much time to... see for myself.”

“I can imagine.” Jon nodded, rubbing at his nose absently. Thinking hard, while trying to listen as actively as possible.

While Martin chattered on as though it was all relatively simple, Jon was stuck on decoding the unsettling atmosphere that pushed and pulled itself throughout this otherwise cheery anecdote, like a wave coming dangerously close to wiping out a drawing in the sand. 

What was it like, knowing no other existence than caring for the mother who hadn’t yet taught him how to live?

Jon knew what it was like to go days at a time without speaking, but that was because he’d spent his childhood wandering off wherever he pleased, unsupervised, never keeping any consistent company. It puzzled him, the thought of being tied so tightly to a guardian. So enmeshed, but neglected and unknown, all the same.

What bothered him more than anything, perhaps, was the thought of someone as bright and talkative as Martin, being reduced to defeated silence in another’s constant presence. Even when he stuttered, or trailed off, he still _talked_.

“I did try, you know! To... say hello to the little guys, when I saw them. But I couldn’t stop scaring them by accident. They’d all run off as soon as they saw me for some reason, hah. Gave me a bit of a complex. Anyway, the neighbor told me that one of the roosters, who’d... never had the whole crowing-all-day habit before... he’d started up, ‘cause he was getting on a bit, and his vision had gone? But as time went by, he seemed to outlive all the others, and… after a while, he was just… crowing _constantly_. ‘Cause, you know, he had no way to guess about the time anymore.”

“Is that right?” Jon murmured, entertaining a little pang of affection towards this hypothetically blind, lone rooster that he’d never met.

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not like there were any... rooster optometrists around, but... I guess you could still tell he’d gone blind, hah.” Martin chuckled, shrugging and tilting his head back and forth. “He, um... started sort of hanging out outside my window... after his friends had passed on, and... he was so loud, all the time, but I didn’t mind, ‘cause… I’d always feel so happy for him, when it reached the crack of dawn, and he just so happened to get it right, you know?”

Jon simply replied with a small nod against Martin’s chest, sniffling. He couldn’t quite tell if his eyes were just glassy, or if this rooster tale had him a bit sentimental.

He supposed the latter explanation wouldn’t be surprising, as he lingered on the thought of this creature, living free of what was assumed to be his sole purpose, but also perhaps never truly free, as long as he still had the memory of looking into the sun. Crowing again and again in the absence of seeing, still longing to guess.

If things had gone a bit differently, he reckoned that he’d know the feeling.

And yet, it also seemed so reminiscent of Martin. Survivor of its bickering flock, standing alone, just trying to do the right thing. Maybe there was a reason it found itself drawn to Martin’s window after all had been lost. 

What a strange and slightly cruel omen.

That cold medicine had definitely gotten to his head. He was getting swept up over a rooster.

“Sorry, is that--... it seemed like a nice story, in my head, but I guess it’s a little...” Martin laughed nervously, before looking down at Jon, who was sort of in the fetal position, looking down and nuzzling into his chest. “Um, Jon, are you okay?”

“Hm? Yeah. Sorry. Just a bit tired.” Jon croaked, clearing his throat and quickly swiping at his eyes. “Uh, Martin, before I… before I nod off, do you want to go meet the rooster? The one outside.”

“Oh, um…” Martin’s eyes lit up. He looked overwhelmed. “Maybe if it’s still around later!”

“We can, if you want.”

“But, you’re tired...”

“ _Martin_.”

“It’s just, I’m nervous! What if roosters really just don’t like me for some reason? They liked the neighbor just fine, so what is it about me, huh? I can’t handle knowing whether or not all roosters hate me!” Martin confessed in a bit of an outburst, trying to keep his sense of humor intact, but seeming genuinely distraught.

Jon smiled patiently, unable to shake the feeling that this crushing rooster anxiety encapsulated something bigger than Martin realized. “Oh, please, that seems... unlikely. You mentioned yardwork, could it have been the noise?”

“I mean, maybe? I guess they could’ve associated me with the lawnmower, but… more often, I was just pulling weeds...” Martin pondered for a moment, before leaning his head back on the arm of the couch. “Anyway, hah. Truthfully, I think I just don’t want to get up... this couch is so comfortable, I might doze off a bit myself.”

“Hmm. How’s this… we’ll go meet him next time we’re up.” Jon encouraged, squeezing Martin’s hand, decidedly not dropping the issue entirely. “If he’s wandered off, I have ways of helping you find him.”

“Jon, I don’t want you giving him little night terrors.” Martin chided, raising an eyebrow.

“Just by knowing where he is? That’s not how it works, Martin, I’m not out to take his statement.” Jon objected, talking emphatically with his hands.

Martin burst out laughing, throwing a hand over his heart. “Oh no, a rooster statement! It’s just… squawking, and you’re writing things down...”

“I’ve got at least a good two weeks before I’m delirious enough to try that.” Jon joked dryly. “Though, he could be blind as well? In which case, I couldn’t exactly do much.”

“I hadn’t thought of that! How funny would that be?” Martin exclaimed, mind blown at the revelation. “I mean, not funny, like, _funny_ , just a bit… just a bit uncanny.”

“Yeah… yeah.” Jon chuckled despairingly. “Uh, anyway, I’d... like to help you meet a rooster. At some point. Put your... worries to r _ehh_ -... to rest-...”

“Alright, Jon...” Martin rubbed his back, humoring him gently. A sentiment of some sort was coming across, and he appreciated it, despite not knowing its magnitude.

“...huh- ** _eeiii_** dshuh...!” Jon tiredly sneezed into what was becoming another one of his huge tissue bouquets, still with enough force that it scraped out of him and sent him curling up even further into himself, almost kicking his feet up a bit.

“God _bless_ you.” Martin offered giddily as a particularly lively zap of aroused pity lit him up.

“Th- _hh_ -thank you, Martin-” Jon stuttered sweetly as he geared up, irritated tears glistening around his eyes. “... _hh-h_! HUH- ** _idg_** sheuh...!”

“Hah. Bless you, again.”

“... _nnh_ , thank you...” Jon half-whispered, before giving into another one of those long, blocked-up sniffles that had shoulder action. "Ugh. God, I can’t stand listening to myself.”

"Now you know how we feel." Martin quipped teasingly, rubbing his back.

Jon got about halfway through blowing his nose with a terribly stagnant futility, before his brow knit and his eyes narrowed with an accusing faux-offended _look_. “‘We?’ Who’s ‘we?’ Are you and the rooster conspiring against me?”

“Well, I can’t speak for _him_...”

"Do I really always sound this irritating?"

"Only every so often."

"Always giving the generous answer..."

"Well, yeah. That's kind of my job." Martin planted a kiss in Jon’s hair, looking satisfied with himself. "Your whole... having-the-truth-at-your-disposal thing is nice and all, but, me? I bring the _half_ -truth."

" ** _HG_ **’shieuh!-ngh, dirty liar, that Martin..." Jon smirked deviously, right on the heels of a harsh, muffled stifle that sent his feet kicking again.

“Wha-!” Martin squeaked in disbelief. "I'm _not_ \- bless you- I’m _not_ a dirty liar! I'm a-... I'm a practical one. A... convenient... omitter of information! Sprinkle some here, fudge a bit there..." 

"Hmm. Practical lies... palatable as sprinkles and fudge..." Jon stared off into the distance with a half-baked concentration, narrating crisply as he hashed out a rhyme of some sort. "He sprinkles some here, fudges a bit there, and my... practical eyes... ease up on their stare. Or, something..."

Martin blinked, taking a half-second to make sense of... whatever that was, before it all clicked, and he smiled so big the corners of his eyes crinkled, squeezing both of Jon’s shoulders with excitement. "Oh! Very good!"

"I'm no poet." Jon shrugged, coughing weakly into the sleeve of his (or, technically Martin’s) sweater and smiling with a bit of embarrassment.

"First time for everything! 'Sprinkles and Fudge,' by Jonathan Sims..."

"God, that is… _bad_." Jon cringed, setting his tissue bouquet on his lap for a moment, expressly to cover his face with his hands.

“Maybe a different title. ‘Palatable,’ maybe? That’s a fun word.”

“I don’t know... even if I had the slightest knack for... _love_ poetry, it would probably turn out weird. Well-intentioned, but... maybe... not the most pleasant. Like a cat with a dead rodent."

"Ooh! You’ve got similes coming out the ears." Martin flattered enthusiastically, giving his back a little pat. "I heard that wordplay, as well. Practical lies, practical eyes."

Jon peered up at Martin innocently. "Did you like it...?"

"I did, it was quite good! Well done, Jon." Martin praised sweetly, taking his hand and beaming with pride.

Jon pulled Martin’s hand to his lips, giving him that adoring, knightly look that had melted his heart earlier. “You’re my muse.”

Oh, no. That was _much_ too earnest. Jon either had a truly impressive cold medicine high, or he was feeling downright awful. Or both.

Martin took Jon’s face in his hands and kissed his forehead, teasing softly. “A bit loopy on those meds, are we?”

Jon replied with a drawn-out, affirmative snicker, closing his eyes and grinning, as though genuinely amused by something.

"Oh. Oh, Jon.” Martin scooped him up and held him close, melting. He grabbed one of the decorative pillows they’d banished to the floor and tucked it under Jon’s head. “That’s alright. Don’t you worry, now. Just rest your eyes for a bit. Here, let’s prop your head up a little… there. Comfortable?”

Jon nodded obediently, lip twitching as he smiled, fighting off another little bout of that warm, twisted-up heartache, brow knitting slightly. 

What a day. Week. Month. Year.

He was… so tired.

The moment that swirling warmth behind his eyes pushed itself forward, his watery eyes gave in a little, simply unable to avoid the tear that dripped down onto the bridge of his nose. Just one drop, lingering there for only a moment, before Martin’s soft hand brushed it away, as if anticipating it.

“Shh, shh, shh. I’ve got you, hun. You just get a good rest and you’ll feel much better.” Martin whispered tenderly before he even knew what had come out of his mouth, swaying gently. Knitting his brow and practically _willing_ him to sleep.

‘Hun?’ Whoops.

Hell with it, it didn’t matter.

Jon sniffled and managed a crooked little smile, mouthing something.

"Sorry, what?" Martin blushed, almost expecting to be teased.

"I said, I love you...” Jon complained, opening one misty eye and raising an eyebrow.

Martin’s brain took a moment to process, and then he scoffed affectionately, stroking Jon’s cheek. "No, you didn't."

"Was that not what I said?" Jon started to chuckle stupidly again. He was truly all over the map.

"No words even came out at all!” Martin bickered sweetly.

"Fine. I _love_ you. There. Now, don’t forget.” Jon replied, furrowing his brow in a manner that would be stern instead of comical if he wasn’t only a small percentage awake.

Martin had blushed so many times that day, he felt as though he’d just stay bright red for the rest of his life and there was nothing he could do about it. He was almost fine with it. “I didn’t forget, you just didn’t make any noise...”

“Well, don’t forget, in general...” Jon smiled peacefully, before burying his face in Martin’s chest.

“I... wasn’t planning to?” Martin sassed gently, nuzzling into his hair and kissing the top of his head. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to get a bit overtaken. "I love you, Jon.”

“I appreciate that.” Jon replied, muffled and matter-of-factly, at a conversational volume so casual that it was tonally inappropriate. Martin’s shoulders quivered with a soft, gradual fit of internal laughter as he tucked a loose strand of damp hair behind Jon’s ear.

Their friend, the rooster, crowed loudly outside once again, but Jon didn’t stir, appearing to be sound asleep despite his glowing conversational skills from the moment prior.

“You’re a bit of a sleep-talker, aren’t you?” Martin murmured, holding him tightly and rubbing his back in slow circles.

After a delay of about twenty seconds, Sleep-Jon chimed in cluelessly with what would be his final offering for a peaceful hour or two.

“What?”

Then, he was truly out like a light, making no sound save for a few congested clicks and a soft snore every now and then. Martin found his heart swelling upon realizing how much it sounded like a deep purr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not to go all songfic on you but i wanted to shout-out the song “jewel” by adam melchor for giving me the rooster idea, and for being such a lovely warm jmart scottish honeymoon fluff song in general. it’s been on repeat as i’ve been writing this fic
> 
> “there’s a rooster in the yard behind us  
> crowing at all hours of the day
> 
> he must be blind, but  
> he only has to get it right just once, 
> 
> like i’ve got it right with you,  
> ‘cause you’re my jewel.”
> 
> also, that “together, but separate” line came from a therapist that changed my life: “the opposite of codependence isn’t loneliness. it’s a love where you are together, but separate.” <3 thank you bella for helping me take my first steps out of the lonely. y’know, just in case you find yourself reading some tma sneeze fetish fic on your lunch break.


End file.
